


The musing of a King

by Cattuesmountain



Series: The musing of ... [2]
Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: F/M, Married Sex, Points of View, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-23 16:20:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19704994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cattuesmountain/pseuds/Cattuesmountain
Summary: Did you wonder about Henry's train of thoughts after the events of „The musing of a servant girl"?Me too – so here we are...





	The musing of a King

Disclaimer:"Reign" or the characters used in it are not mine, sad but true :-( Violations of any rights are not intended.  
Pairing: Catherine/Henry – Cathry  
Rating: NC-17  
Catergory: Henry POV  
Remarks: like all my other fanfiction, this story has been written in my native language and I've translated it in all conscience.

Please read "The musing of a servant girl" first. 

The musing of a King

"Catherine, I expect you in my chambers tonight."  
While my words still echo from the high walls, I'm already hurrying down the dark corridor, counting silently down from five. Before I even reach one, the door of the lady's parlor is torn open and the clacking noise of high-heels can be heard.  
"Henry!"

I deliberately slow down my pace so that my Queen can catch up with me. I have difficulties suppressing the smile that threatens to lay itself on my lips due to her predictable reaction.  
The moment her little freckled hand grasps my arm, I put on a mask of grim determination and whirl around to face her.

"What is it, Catherine? I'm terribly busy and in kind of a hurry."  
Not quite the truth but neither a lie. I'm de facto in a hurry. In a hurry to flee from my wife and from the question why I let myself be carried away and ordered her into my bed under the prying eyes of the public.  
"Henry! Your behavior is absolutely unacceptable."

Her voice, which sounds one octave higher than usual, resonates with annoyance.  
I draw a sharp breath, exhale loudly and reach for her hand, that still rests on my arm.

"I wouldn't call it unacceptable for a man to claim what - in a matter of speaking - he's perfectly entitled to claim, woman." I remind her, and it's not for the first time I'm amazed that my fist can encircle her slender wrist completely.  
"And I forbid you to ever publicly question me or my abilities, of whatever nature." I release her hand and reach for a loose strand of hair instead.

The telling twinkle in her dark soulful eyes reveals that I'm in danger of becoming victim of her unrestrained Italian temper.  
So I grasp Catherine's chin with my hand and direct her face closer to mine. Before she can leash out at me with her sharp tongue, I reduce the distance between us to silence her protest with a kiss.

I can feel her surprise over my actions and make use of her astonishment by pulling her even closer and enfolding her in my arms while my tongue vehemently demands entry, which she finally grants after a brief moment of incertitude.  
With a cute little sigh, Catherine opens her lips and kisses me back. I don't even lose a second and let our kiss become more intense, all the while taking what she is willing to give until I'm losing myself in the marvelous feeling of her soft lips against mine.

After what feels like an eternity, a lack of oxygen forces me to release her burning lips.  
Without moving apart, I let my lips glide over her velvety cheek until I reach her ear. Hungrily my tongue traces the contour of her auricle. I feel Catherine shiver in my arms which prompts me to gently nibble on her earlobe.  
"Wear something nice for me, okay!?", I whisper hoarsely and press my growing erection against her midsection to give her a little foretaste of the pleasures that await her.

As not to run the risk of losing my self-composure now and here, I release my wife to look at her more closely. The prevailing anger has disappeared from her eyes. Although her cheeks are flushed and her lips seem slightly swollen.  
"Henry?", She looks at me questioningly and her unfamiliar uncertainty makes me smile.

I grab her hand and bring it to my lips.  
"Till later then, my Queen."

XXX

I don't like waiting. I actually hate it with a vehemence that is second to none. And people who are able to wait with patience and restraint for the things to come, they are a mystery to me. How can you just accept your fate idly in the hope that everything will turn out all right? When it virtually begs us to defiantly confront it with one's head raised.

No one knows that better than my stubborn wife and yet she decided to let me wait.  
But is this just a form of sweetst torture or another sign of her insubordination and impertinence? I wonder if I should send for her, but neglect the thought. Catherine will turn up sooner or later and meanwhile I can practice some patience.

It doesn't take long before my impatience drives me out of the chair and over to the window. The flickering lights of the candlesticks are reflected in the glass and divert my gaze out into the darkness.

The whole day I've perceived an uncharacteristic excitement and even if I would like to deny it, it's the idea of being able to make love to my wife tonight that had triggered these feelings.  
An occasion I admittedly precipitate only seldomly.  
Which is neither due to Catherine in person nor her qualities as a lover.

For between the sheets, my dear wife behaves as unpredictable and feisty, as she does in general. A bundle of energy, sparkling with passion and determination, as long as she decides to indulge her passion. And contrary to her claims regarding my abilities as a lover, I also know from first-hand experiences that she actually enjoys my intimate touches once she permits herself these pleasures.

It's rather the complications that follow, that make me avoid my wife's bed.  
For Catherine loves as passionately ash she hates. Moreover, she is stubborn, mulish and a master at undermining my authority.  
In short, the most strenuous woman I've ever met.

Every rapprochement between us involuntarily creates new tensions and conflicts, most of which revolve around Diane and her position in my life.

I'm not willing to give up my mistress. For Diane, in contrast to Catherine, is of a gentler nature and with her not every encounter, every conversation ends in a continual, tiring struggle.  
She is easier to control and happy with whatever I'm willing to offer her.  
Her love is as simple and light as a mild summer burst, while Catherine's love is in no way inferior to the force of a wild thunderstorm.

I know that Diane has anything but friendly feelings for my wife as well, even though she thinks she can hide it. But unlike Catherine, she does not live out her aversions quite as openly.

In my own way, I love both women. Catherine for being exactly the queen France needs and I could not have wished for a better mother for my children. Whereas Diane is the woman who gives me encouragement and makes me forget the burden on my shoulders from time to time.

There have been times when my sweet little Caterina has been all this for me and so much more, but these times are long gone.

Shortly after Elisabeth has been born, we have admitted the failure of our marriage to ourselves and started to emotionally grow apart. From this point on our sex has been purely mechanical and only meant to conceive more heirs. And heirs she has given me plenty.

But every now and then that fire of passion, the one that probably has never completely become extinct, had captured us time and again. And each time these lapses and the resulting consequences have deeply hurt the two women in my life.

Diane, who I unintentionally remind of the fact that, contrary to my words, I still have feelings for my wife and Catherine, whose heart breaks each time I leave her after a sweet night of passion to return into Diane's arms.

Sometimes I wish Catherine were a man. Her courage, her boldness and her loyalty would make her the perfect companion. One a man could win wars with, conquer countries or make bodies disappear unnoticed. This way, the strange attraction I feel for her would have been eliminated as well. But it is pointless to think about such things.

Because men and women can not share such a bond. Especially not if the woman in question is Catherine de Medici.

Sometimes her mere presence in the same room, with her rigid posture and a stubbornly raised chin, suffices to picture me dragging her into my room to either spank her or lay her. Preferably both in exactly this order.

Just as my thoughts are threatening to slide down the slippery path of my imagination, the door opens and the protagonist of this intellectual game enters my chambers.

But instead of putting on a face of gleeful anticipation, Catherine wears a grim expression which augurs ill fate. Nevertheless, I force myself to smile encouragingly at my wife and even renounce from teasing her about her late appearance.  
But all my efforts deflect off Catherine, who walks through the room with a stony expression on her pretty face, all the while refusing to even look at me.

She stops in front of the bed, sighs loudly as well as theatrically and strips off her dressing-gown, which glides carelessly to the floor.

The sight of her nightgown makes me laugh out loud in amusement. Catherine is wearing the ugliest and most shapeless nightdress I've ever seen. It is beige, puffy and hangs down on her like an old potato sack, capable of hiding even the slightest sign of feminine curves.

No one else on this earth knows better how to verbalize their displeasure about my actions like my wife does. Even without wasting any word on it.  
I ignore her silent protest nonetheless and courageously approach her.

And there it is again, that telltale, dangerous-looking glint in her eyes that may deter others but has the effect of an aphrodisiac on me.  
"Where did you resurrect this beautiful piece of cloth?", I tease her and playfully pull on the lacing until it begins to loosen.

"Are you seeking meaningless smalltalk or do you want to have sex?" With these words, she pulls away from me, circles my bed and let herself fall on her back on the mattress. Then she slightly bents her knees and looks up to me in annoyance. "Let's get it over with. Henri is sick. I want to get back to my chambers as soon as possible in case he feels worse or needs his mother."

Her statement makes me swallow hard and gives evidence that her attempt of making me feel guilty has been successful.  
"I'm convinced that his nanny will take great care of our son," I reply, taking position right next to her on the mattress. Like this afternoon I reach for her chin and caress her soft and warm skin for a moment before bending down to kiss her tenderly.

Unsurprisingly, Catherine strives for apathy. But I've never shied away from a challenge and today won't certainly be the first time. After all, it was my dear wife who has challenged my ability as a lover in public. A shame I certainly won't stand for.

I eagerly make short work oft the ribbons of her nightgown and expose her upper body.  
The sight of her shapely breasts makes my mouth water and the desire to run my tongue over her pink nipples becomes overwhelming all of a sudden. I arche to nibble on those rosy peaks.

So I move from thoughts to deeds and catch her left nipple with my lips, which elicits a cry of surprise from Catherine that grows into a soft moan as soon as I begin to suck on it.  
Out of the corner of my eye I can see her fingers grasp my sheets.  
I suck and nibble alternately, circle her areola with the tip of my tongue while my hands caress her other breast tenderly.

Then I let my fingers slide down her curvaceous body to resolutely push up her outrageous nightgown. I nibble on her nipple one last time before tearing away from her breasts. I let my lips wander down her stomach in a trail of open mouthed, hot kisses. Just before reaching her pubic mound I stop myself, enjoy the feeling of sparkling anticipation that rises and causes my whole body to vibrate.

I shift my position to take position directly between her spread thighs. I take a moment to look at the sensual, quivering creature in front of me. When I feel her growing unease, I bend over and lick her private parts.

Catherine utters a surprised cry and tries to twist herself free from my prying tongue. But I relentlessly grasp her thighs and force her to remain in her position - completely open and vulnerable.  
"Henry ...", her voice breaks and I look up from between her thighs.  
"Yes, Catherine?" I ask provocatively and blow on her swollen clitoris.  
"You wanted to... oh my god! You wanted sex."  
"Later, lover. First I want to make you scream." I whisper and go back to licking her vulva. As my lips brush her clit, Catherine's legs twitch briefly before she rears up against me.

To increase her desire, I use my hand as an aid and penetrate her first with one, then with two fingers while my tongue stimulates her clitoris unceasingly.  
I take my time with driving her to the brink of ecstasy, only to pause just in time for her to come down a bit. A sweet, almost unbearable torment that makes my queen squirming underneath me.

Only when a desperate whimper escapes her lips, I show her some mercy with one last lick that sends Catherine over the brink in a sensual whirl of purest bliss.  
Her small, hot body begins to twitch uncontrollably and this sight increases my own excitement.

I take position on top of her, enjoying our full body contact and lean down to her. The moment my lips touch hers, Catherine returns my kiss with wild, unbridled passion.  
Just when I'm about to lose myself, there is a loud knock at the door.

"Go away!" I yell without letting go of my wife, but Catherine suddenly pushes me away as if come to her senses.  
"It could be about Henri," she hisses and before I know it, she calls: "Come in!"

And while the door opens and my wife hurries to straighten her nightgown, I find myself rolling to the edge of the mattress, trying to hide the evidence of my passion under a sheet.

"Your Majesties, please pardon the disruption. But little Henri is feverish and the prince is crying for his mother." The dark-haired woman, who is accompanied by one of my guards, seems ashamed and mainly stares at the floor. Her cheeks are red with embarrassment and she doesn't dare to make eye contact.

"Then go and get my boy," Catherine decides resolutely, and I can only hope that she can soothe the boy quickest possible.  
"Of cours, Your Grace." As fast as the woman appeared, she also takes flight.

Catherine avoids looking at me when she gets up and puts on her robe. I sigh heavily and watch her in silence, all the while trying to ignore my throbbing errection.  
As she gets ready to leave my chambers, I collect myself and call her back.  
"Stay, Catherine." My words prompt her to pause. With a small sad smile on her face she turns to me.

"Henri needs me," she whispers almost imploringly and I need a second to realize that she thinks I'm putting the satisfaction of my lowest instincts over the well-being of our son.  
"What I mean is: Stay with me and let them bring Henri to my chambers." I haste to correct my request. Her puzzled look speaks volumes.  
"I will not send him back unless he's feeling better," she warns me and I nod obediently.

Although I do not know the details of my sons condition, I strongly suspect that I won't have sex with his mother this night.  
"Guards! Let the nanny bring Henri to my chambers, "I order and seal my own fate.

Few minutes later, Catherine has tucked the five-year-old in my bed and she's now gently and reassuringly whispering to the miserable-looking child. Henri is too ill to even bother with my very presence. I'm not sure if he even noticed me in his distress.

For me, however, this situation is a revelation. I haven't witnessed Catherine in her role as caring mother for a long time and her warmth and dedication to this child warms my own heart.  
How could I ever blame my wife for being incapable of love?

This unfamiliar yet soft side of her touches something inside of me. Deeper and so much more intense than simple sex could ever do. Even though I would be anything but averse from continuing our marital activities. But certainly not tonight.

It takes another thirty minutes for Henri to fall asleep in his mother's arms. I gaze at Catherine over my fair-haired son's head. To my surprise she answeres with a small, withdrawn smile. Silently I reach for her and stroke her cheek in a loving gesture.  
This moment I wish for being able to hold her in my arms.

After thinking about this desire in particular and Catherine in general, I quietly get up. Then I gently reach for Henri to lift him over to my now vacant side of the bed.

My wife throws me an irritated look and slips into the middle of the bed to reach for her child. Exactly the reaction I was hoping for.  
With a bright smile on my face I circle the bed and sit down on her side of the mattress.

After blowing out the candles, I roll over in Catherine's direction. Even in the dark, I am able to find her immediately and pull her into my arms.  
"Much better now," I murmur contentedly and tenderly stroke over her side and costal arch.

"Maybe you would like to spend tomorrow night in my chambers as well?" I murmur softly.  
This time it's not an order but an invitation. An unexpected nervousness spreads in my chest while I wait for her answer with bated breath.  
"Maybe," whispers my wife after a brief pause and moves her finger-tips over my arm in a loving caress.

Then I close my eyes – a smug grin on my face - and bury my nose in her soft hair.


End file.
